


Blood and Ebony

by Angel Moon (Angel_Moon)



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: Dark, Evil is Sexy, F/M, Physical Abuse, Rape, Sadism, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Torture, psychological abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-30 20:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10170722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angel_Moon/pseuds/Angel%20Moon
Summary: A thief attempts to rob a shrine to Molag Bal, and accidentally becomes a dremora's plaything instead





	

**Author's Note:**

> The separation between fantasy and reality is more important with darkfic than it is with other types of fic. Fantasizing about a thing does not mean that you have to be okay with that thing if it happens in real life. It is absolutely normal and okay to enjoy fantasizing about things that you would never in a million years want to actually happen. It does not make you a hypocrite or a bad person. And if that thing ever actually happens to you, it does not make it your fault.
> 
> Anhaedra is named after the dremora at the Maar Gan shrine in Morrowind, but isn’t supposed to be the same one -- I just really liked the name. This fic was written before playing ESO, and this fic's Coldharbour is based entirely on pre-ESO canon, which means it differs significantly from Coldharbour as depicted in ESO. There isn't necessarily any reason to think they can't both be true: Molag Bal changes his appearance quite a few times, so why not change other things?

Nilani shifted in the plates of her bonemold armor as she peered into the shrine’s inner sanctum. Dark brick steps flanked by long-defunct fountains, heavy wooden benches carved with images that made her cringe, and in the center, the great statue of Molag Bal. The thin, ashy sunlight that leaked through the gaps in the ruined ceiling seemed to shift and shimmer on the statue’s fanged head and nude, ithyphallic form.

But Nilani was more interested in the offerings that lay at the statue’s clawed feet. Dusty scrolls that shone with enchantment, soul gems, potions in tiny gilded bottles, precious stones, and gold, gold, gold, enough gold to get her to the mainland and have plenty to spare!

Nilani paused and listened. No sound except the wind and the occasional squealing of a rat. The inner sanctum was as empty as the rest of the shrine. She kept her eyes open and her hand on the pommel of her dagger all the same as she crept toward the treasures. Movement? No, just dust falling across the statue.

Reaching the offering platform, she took a final look around the room, then began stuffing gold and jewels into her bag by the handful. She couldn't stop a grin from spreading across her normally stoic face as she imagined Argyle’s reaction when he learned she had disappeared. Argyle and Habasi and all the rest of them, the whole cursed guild, they would see who was laughing while Nilani was living under a fake name in Blacklight, and they were scrambling to collect dues from a ghost! Triumphantly, she fit the last of her bounty into her bag and buckled it. She turned away from the statue. Yes, we’d see who would be laughing when --

A sword at her throat. And at the end of the sword, a dremora.

It was a full foot taller than her, clad head to toe in heavy Daedric armor. Its eyes, the only part of its body she could see, glowed like lava through the holes in its grimacing helmet.

Of course. The loot was cursed, and now Nilani would die. At least the guild wouldn't get their money, she thought bitterly. She braced for the cut that would end her life. But it didn't come.

“Hmph,” the dremora said, in a deep, rumbling, oddly intoned voice. It lowered the sword and instead grabbed her around the neck with its off hand. Her hands scrabbled against the cold metal gauntlet, trying and failing to pry the dremora’s grip from her airway. “This is what they want me to fight? You?” It shook her slightly. “I could kill you with one hand!” With a flick of its wrist, it sent her sprawling across the floor, gasping for breath. “Pathetic.”

She went for her dagger, but it was gone. Where was it? Stupid, stupid! She readied a fireball, but the dremora waved its hand almost lazily and she felt her magicka slip away. Defenseless, she scanned the room for something, anything, she might be able to use as a weapon. There! A long, pointed pole from a broken beam. Better than nothing. She lunged for it, but the dremora smashed a foot in the center of her back, slamming her face into the floor and squeezing the air from her lungs. The creature kicked her in the ribs, hard, again and again, with sickening visceral cracks that Nilani couldn't tell whether were coming from her bonemold armor or her body. The pain was blinding. Each kick caused an explosion of white light in her vision, but she gritted her teeth and did not cry out.

She curled into a ball against the onslaught. But it stopped. She looked up cautiously. The dremora had removed its helmet -- his helmet, she could see now. The face beneath had skin the color of coal and long, straight hair the color of blood. Two black horns curved back from his forehead -- she had mistaken them for part of the helmet -- and jagged, glowing red lines ran down the sides of his face, like a gap in the stone crust over a pool of magma. He was looking at her with cold disgust. He spat at her. His saliva burned on her cheek like scathecraw in a cut. She wiped it away and saw that it was black.

Gingerly, Nilani felt her injuries. One, two… possibly three broken ribs. Face bloody, but generally okay. Magicka still gone.

The dremora was looming over her, his helmet and sword tossed aside. “Have you given up already? I'm disappointed.”

Slowly, painfully, she slipped out of her now-useless armor and crawled to the broken pole. It was solid and splintered into a razor point at one end. She pulled it free of its pile of rubble and pushed herself to her feet. Her best chance, she decided, was the neck. She readied the makeshift spear, steeled herself, and rushed him. At the last second, the dremora threw out his arm and grabbed the spear, twisting it from her grip and pulling her into his arms. He smelled of smoke and ebony. One gauntleted hand held her wrists and the other her throat. The points of his armor dug into her back.

“You are weak,” he said, “and you know you cannot win.”

“Then why haven't you killed me?” she spat.

He laughed, a bitter sound like a distant rockslide that sent chills through her. “I am a valkynaz, a Lord of Coldharbour and favored servant of the Harvester of Souls. I do not kill vermin.” He tightened his grip on her throat and she began to cough and writhe. “Besides, is this not more fun?”

Nilani shook her head desperately. Black spots were forming at the corners of her eyes. She kicked wildly, and he laughed again. _Come on, think. There has to be a way out of this._ The blackness was closing in...

He let go of her suddenly, and she fell to the floor at the foot of the statue, gasping. But as soon as she landed, he was on her, straddling her hips and holding her hands down. She felt a sensation like plunging her hands into cold mud, and found them embedded in the stone floor. He caught her hair and pulled her head to the side. “Maybe you're not having fun now,” he breathed, “but you will be soon.” 

She had heard this phrase before; she knew what it meant. “Yeah, right,” she said defiantly, suppressing the cold bubble of fear growing in her stomach. “And then I'll be named the new Empress of--”

He slapped her across the face, his spiked gauntlet tearing long cuts across her blue-gray skin. “I can make you give me everything, mortal. Your pain…”

Suddenly her skin, her skin was on fire! She jerked beneath the dremora, shrieking, but every position seemed to make the pain worse. She twisted in the hope that pressure would soothe the pain, but the fabric of her shirt felt like a bed of thorns. She writhed, unable to breathe, unable to see…

“Or your pleasure…” a distant voice said. The pain stopped instantly. She gasped at the new sensation. Between her legs, up inside her, she felt electricity, pulsing, throbbing, shooting pleasure down her thighs and up through her chest, currents racing across her skin and through her bones. She ground indecently against the form above her, crying out as she approached the edge…

But that, too, stopped, and she gritted her teeth in frustration. Her face was flushed and damp. What magic was this?

“Do you see?” said the sneering, glow-eyed face swimming above her. “Your body is mine. Your mind is mine. Everything that you are is mine. Do you understand?”

Tears of shame welled up in her dark red eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “What was--”

He tangled his hand in her hair and slammed her head against the stone. She saw stars. “I asked you a question, mortal. You would do well to answer it.”

She swallowed, dizzy. “Yes.”

“Good.” He smiled, showing wickedly pointed teeth, and ran his fingers down her cheek almost lovingly. “We're making progress, little elf.”

At the touch of his hand, a warmth spread through her, down her limbs, agonizingly slowly, until it nestled between her thighs and began to pulse. More of his tricks, of course. But oh, was it lovely. She bit back a moan. How was he _doing_ this?

“Let me ask you this,” he said, running his hands across her chest. “When I can take what I want” -- he tore the linen of her shirt like it were tissue paper and cupped her breasts, rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger -- “then is it not easier to just give it to me when I ask?”

“I--” He pinched, hard, driving the claw-tipped metal into her soft, sensitive flesh. “Y-yes! Yes, it is,” she gasped. It made sense to comply with his demands. He would have his fun with her, and then she would leave. Our maybe he would kill her. Either way, it was better to get it over with as quickly as possible.

He withdrew the metal points. Beads of blood formed on her areolas, and he lowered his head to catch them on his black tongue. His mouth stung her, but as he lapped and suckled at her bleeding breasts and his spell continued to throb between her legs, she found that she barely noticed the pain. His mouth left her breasts, but the stinging pleasure on her nipples didn't stop. He sat back, parted her thighs with his knees, and smirked as he saw the damp spot that had been growing there since she had first seen him. An armored hand tore a hole in the fabric, revealing the source of the wetness. She clenched the muscle there, a feeble attempt to keep everything closed and hidden, but he parted those lips with two fingers and grinned as he gazed at this most intimate part of her. She kicked at him weakly.

One gauntlet fell to the floor and he traced a thick, inky black finger up and down her lips, then drove it inside her to the last knuckle. She was ashamed to feel herself grip him, pull him deeper. He laughed. “Eager little thing, aren’t you?” He flexed his finger inside her.

“P-please,” she said. Please what, she didn’t know. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

He withdrew his finger suddenly, leaving her to clench fruitlessly on emptiness. But he removed the front panel of his greaves and unlaced the thin black fabric beneath. His swollen member stood at the ready. It was large, like the rest of him, and significantly wider at the base, with glowing red veins spiraling down its length. He guided it to her entrance and she couldn’t help but raise her hips in anticipation. She wanted him, needed him, and although she was ashamed, she couldn't hide it.

He pressed into her, slowly, clearly savoring her reactions. She found that the veins were stiff and slightly rough, and she shivered as they traced their way around inside her. He was filling her, feeling thicker as he went deeper, and the pulsing inside her became stronger and more rapid as hot wetness soaked the stones below. Almsivi, did she want him. She wrapped her legs around him and tried to pull him in faster.

When he was almost fully in her, he stopped. She could have cried in frustration. He placed a massive hand on each of her hips to prevent her from writhing; he controlled all the stimulation she would get.

“Tell me that you are mine,” he said.

She moaned openly. “I am yours. Please…”

He thrust himself deeper, impaling her, stretching her inward in a way that sent tingles across her skin. It was too much. She clenched uncontrollably as she felt the familiar sensation of a building orgasm inside her.

“Again.”

“I am yours,” she repeated. It felt more natural, now. But she would say anything at this point, she thought. Anything if he would just fuck her.

He pulled his cock from her, then jammed it back in, hard, making her cry out at the intensity. It would normally have sent her over the edge. He must be holding her back with a spell. She growled in frustration.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice growing more breathy, “that you bind yourself to me, now and forever.”

“I--” _No,_ a distant voice warned. She swallowed.

“You will say it, slut.” He slapped her, harder, spreading droplets of blood across the statue’s clawed feet.

She felt a pain now, a pain growing inside her, insistent, aching at her core, radiating into her arms and legs. It grew as her blocked orgasm did, swelling with every thrust of his cock. The ache turned to a scalding burn, as though hot water had been pumped into her core and was being heated to boiling, the pressure building until she thrashed blindly, trying to expel the pain and make him stop and pull him deeper and keep herself from exploding into a million tiny pieces.

“Say it,” he urged.

Anything, _anything_ to make it _stop_. She spat the words out quickly: “I bind myself to you, now and forever.”

A cold wave passed over her. The pain dulled, but so did the pleasure. Her hands, suddenly free, went to her crotch, desperately trying to feel the pleasure she had felt a moment ago, but it was no use.

He grinned wildly and thrust his cock deeper into her, but there was no pleasure now, only pain as she stretched to the breaking point around him, the rough veins tearing at her insides. “No… no!” She beat at him with her clenched fists.

“Never say ‘no’ to me, slave.”

And she found that she could not. When she opened her mouth to say it, nausea overcame her, and she retched until her stomach ached. “What did you do to me?” she whispered.

“You are a fool. I did nothing but manipulate a few nerve endings. But you…” He laughed and she felt the sound in her bones. “You bound yourself to me on the altar of the Lord of Domination, and sealed the pact with your blood.”

Her head spun. “But I… it wasn't…”

“Oh, yes, mortal. You are mine. Now and forever.”


End file.
